We do not give up because we cannot do it perfectly, and yet gardens still bloom rivers still find their way to the sea
We do not give up because we cannot do it perfectly, and the heart still beats without asking if it has failed
We do not give up because we cannot do it perfectly, we take our first steps knowing we may stumble but it is in the act of moving forward…
A stumble is not the same as a collapse, our measures of progress are skewed by the cruel ruler of perfection
A stumble is not the same as a collapse, but there are better ways to see growth- in the patience that is too gained
A stumble is not the same as a collapse, on the clarity of our next move despite of the weight of yesterday as we only keep the moments…
Effort is its own form of completion, there are tasks that never finish, seeds that never sprout
Effort is its own form of completion, but the mere planting shapes gardener into one who understands the soil
Effort is its own form of completion, we cannot call it waste when the hours we spend teach us resilience and patience…
It is not all or nothing but it is something, perfection narrows our vision until we only see victories carved from marble
It is not all or nothing but it is something, but this life is made of clay, shaped, reshaped, sometimes crumbling but often, Rebuilt
It is not all or nothing but it is something, there is dignity in the half-painted canvas in the novel with missing chapters that is still worth telling…
The unfinished still holds beauty because it speaks of a journey
That had the courage to begin
Every ruins can be magnificent in the morning light
Telling stories more powerful than flawless facades
